with my heart on my sleeves
by streetlights and music
Summary: It's the way he sees you (intense and deep and burning, as if he can touch your very soul) that gets you high. Kageyama Tobio practically consumes you. Companion piece to "with you at the center of my focus". KageHina.


**Words: **790

**Notes:**Kageyama's version of this piece is titled _with you at the center of my focus_. Although both pieces can be read separately, I think it's better to read Kageyama's piece first before Hinata's, simply because Hinata's piece is written in a happier tone and may probably reference some bits from Kageyama's piece. Although they can be read in any order.

* * *

_"But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve for daws to peck at."_

(Iago, from Act I, Scene I of Othello)

* * *

He watches you. In practices, in matches, and during the night when you both walk home together until the intersection. He fixes his gaze on you – it doesn't bother you anymore; you've learned not to feel self-conscious about it, to not _perform_ – and observes you, scrutinizes you, until you feel exposed and naked under his stare. It makes your heart beat and your eyes dilate and you think to yourself, _Good. Just watch me. Let me prove something to you._

Sometimes, when he's alone or frustrated or particularly upset about something, you make it easier for him. You're naturally loud and hard to miss, but you'll announce your presence and shine extra bright just for him. You overwhelm him with your smiles, your mood, your being, just to pull him together.

He doesn't understand it – not really – but it doesn't matter. These things have never been his strong point (and they don't have to be). You follow after him (after his guarded heart) and tell him that you're there. It's okay; you're there. He doesn't have to be alone.

_Let me prove something to you._

You learn to be perceptive around him, because the moment he breathes out the world stops and becomes _his_. He becomes aware of _everything_; the distance of the players, the motion of the spikers, and you swear he can even sense your heartbeat even as he drowns you and leaves you breathless. You learn to observe him, too. The severe look in his eyes, the calculated movements of his feet, the arch of his spine as he bends to toss with frightening accuracy. He maneuvers the ball acutely, precisely, and without hesitation; and when he entrusts the game to you, his eyes are filled with confidence and pride.

It's the way he sees you (intense and deep and _burning_, as if he can touch your very soul) that gets you high. Kageyama Tobio practically _consumes_ you.

(And you preen and glow under his stare and admit, bravely and with all honesty, that you don't mind at all.)

He's fixated on you. It's something like an obsession, but not quite. You don't think he notices; he's not the type to be self-aware about these things. But that's fine. He doesn't have to be. You're his keeper. His _knight_. If you try hard enough, you can reach him. Protect him.

(Release his restraints and let him _be,_ because you can stay on the court if you're together – so what does he have to lose?)

There's nothing wrong with a little honesty, a little weakness. It's only natural – only _human_. You know him well enough that you can break his defenses and safeguard his heart (but you never do). He bristles, because he's never let himself be weak in front of someone, doesn't know _how_. You tell him that it's fine because you can _protect_ him, and that should be enough, shouldn't it?

(It is, though he doesn't tell you. Even so–)

You keep trying (_one more!_), infecting him with enough energy and sunshine and fighting spirit until there's nothing but _gwaah! _in the sweeping divide between you and his throne. You wear your heart on your sleeve and expose your wrists to the world because he never does (and that's just who you are). His stare touches you (ghosts over your skin and suffocates your throat), and it makes you feel bright and free and _alive _and you fervently wish that you can ignite the same feelings in him.

You learn fast. You realize that you drive him, propel him forward. You run after him – it's no longer about upstaging him, of being _better_ – and claim his focus and skills and his whole being because you never do things half-heartedly. You make sure you're present at the most critical moment, ready and aware and _here_. He doesn't need to find you. You're already _here_.

Sometimes you find yourself thinking, _He's still better._ But when he's alone, he crumbles. It burns you with a sickening dread. Kageyama is no king, and no one knows this better than he does.

(But slowly, eventually, he lets you see him too. Allows you to complete him.)

It's daunting, but you press on. He's not the hesitant type, not really. But sometimes – and it's not really often, but _sometimes_ – he plays cautious and safe, so you're careful not to push him, not to break him, even though you know he's strong and willful and steadfast. It gets lonely in high places, and you carve yourself another reason to aim for the top.

(You strive to be the one constant in his life that he can rely on.)

You have no idea how vulnerable you make him. And it distresses you.

* * *

**Notes**: Regarding the quote from Othello: daws are black European birds, like crows. I think the quote is fitting if you take it out of context from the play.


End file.
